


Puzzle 3301|Chapter 2

by KaileyFox



Series: Puzzle 3301 [3]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaileyFox/pseuds/KaileyFox





	Puzzle 3301|Chapter 2

I was drawing closer to my home, closer to safety, and farther away from where I’d just held a rather worrying interview. Still, my paranoia hadn’t diminished since departing. I allowed a bit of unease to cross my features as I looked to the crammed folder in my hands. Within it was filed information on many artefacts, one of which was a very interesting scroll. Alongside the thought of this scroll I recalled two scraps of paper. These three items were connected by a single, yet strong thread: what had been depicted on them. The circle, the white outline, the symbol of an hourglass. Not only had I seen such an insignia scrawled on those two scraps left behind at two different crime scenes, but I’d also spotted it on the scroll at my interviewee’s house. My suspicion increased as I thought of Mrs Tysan or someone partnered with her watching me. I peered over my shoulder once more. 

           It was nearly eleven in the morning and many were working, but as I glanced around I could see groups of people that blended into a multi-coloured mixture of clothing and skin. As always the London streets were busy, but as I focused in on the crowd I could easily make out individual people. One fellow, dressed in a grey suit and tie, was speaking frantically on his mobile, a new-fangled device I know Justine would be goading me to buy had she been here with me. The expression on his face suggested he was ridiculing a subordinate, but as I caught a few desperate words, I realised he was only fighting to ask someone out to lunch…and losing by the sounds of it. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to much else at least, certainly not me.

           Just behind this fellow was a young couple a bit older than Justine, holding hands, wearing the same shirt, skipping along like they were in some sort of romance film. A bit too enthralled with one another to be spying…

           To my right was another bloke speaking on his mobile, this conversation less about lunch and more about paying for it in our tanking economy. In fact, all around me people were on their phones, chatting about work and home, about money and children, moving in, moving out, personal issues I imagined they expected no one to overhear. As far as I could see, everyone was too caught up in their own lives to be keeping an eye on anyone else.

           Even so, I thought as I turned my attention to the pavement in front of me, slipping my free hand into my trouser pocket, I was aware of a single, yet grave possibility. Mrs Tysan may be the culprit of these recent murders.

           I hadn’t placed much weight on this as I didn’t have any conclusive evidence to say why I suspected her. But I did have some intuition, some feeling of unease that nagged at my mind, so there must have been something I observed either consciously or subconsciously to feel this way. Whether or not this intuition was correct was the question. I thought back to the interview.

 _“Yes…”_ I recalled Mrs Tysan saying after claiming she was an archaeologist and I’d questioned this. _“Sorreh I’ve neve’ told yea. Yea jus’ always seem rathe’ busy…”_

           She turned her eyes from me during this apology.

_“First, a bit about what you do, please, Mrs Tysan.”_

           When I’d requested this information, she hesitated before answering.

_“What was it you uncovered?”_

_“A very special ar’efact.”_

           And again she’d hesitated when I’d asked to look at the artefact she had uncovered supposedly with Professor Layton.

           Another mannerism I’d observed was her expression hardening, twice if I recall.

_“Many of th’ ar’efacts are described in grea’ detail in there. It’s a bi’ disorganised as I’ve been cleaning awt th’ ‘ouse…”_

           Once after she had talked of cleaning the house.

_“I’ll be looking forward to interviewing your husband.”_

           The second time when I’d said I was eager to interview Mr Tysan.

           There had been one time her face relaxed.

_“Quite the amount of discoveries you’ve made!”_

           When I’d recognised her accomplishments. When I’d praised her… What could this mean?

           But as I thought on it, I decided these weren’t the most necessary questions to be asking. What I needed to concentrate on was something more specific. If these mannerisms pointed to her obscuring the murders. I recalled at one point her recollections of her responsibilities as an archaeologist had become a bit disjointed, as if she wasn’t sure what to say. And that was when she had opted out of the interview she had insisted on giving in the first place. Could this behaviour suggest a hastily made plan? Like she was buying time?

           What about the house? What had caught my attention? There had been the front door opening and closing… Someone trying to escape? Someone sneaking in to take me out for overhearing too much? What of those boxes of artefacts set near the door? One possibility involving the murders flashed through my mind. Perhaps they were trying to hide certain artefacts, namely that scroll, because they knew I’d be interviewing them. But this I could easily eliminate as an option. Mrs Tysan had taken the scroll directly from one of the boxes to show it to me. Also, the yellowed parchment had been covered in dust, as if it had been sat there for quite a while.

           I thought through the interview once more, eager for answers, but was forced to admit I didn’t have enough evidence to come to a logical conclusion. At present this was all useless speculation. My insatiable curiosity desired to gnaw at every little detail, but I couldn’t let this matter possess me, waste my time. I’d have to file it in the back of my mind for later.

           Besides, I thought as I stepped up to my door, it was nearly time for elevenses and my speculations wouldn’t keep me from another cup of Earl Grey and a biscuit.

           Upon stepping into my house, however, it became apparent to me that elevenses would be disrupted. I was about to greet Justine when I noticed someone else sat beside her at the kitchen table. A certain someone else whom I now realised had been the cause of the Tysan’s front door opening and closing so rapidly.

           “Fayne…” I hissed between my teeth. At least his presence solved one of the mysteries that had been on my mind, I thought, attempting to put a positive spin on the situation. Now I knew Mrs Tysan hadn’t hired an assassin to shoot me dead from her front door…

           Even so, I couldn’t help thinking, perhaps I should suspect Fayne in the murders as well?

           “Hey, Dad,” Justine mumbled in welcome, breaking through my thoughts. It was obvious she was playing a video game of some sort on her laptop. I knew this not only from the sounds of fictional fighting, swords swinging, magic spells crackling, and various other noises I couldn’t put a finger on, but also because she was preoccupied with her screen rather than my arrival.

           “Hello, Justine,” I smiled as I slipped off my Oxfords.

           “Ayup, Miste’ Dove!” Fayne joined in.

           My face instantly fell at the boy’s greeting. “Yes, hello, Fayne…”

           “‘Ow was th’ in’ehview?”

           “Fine…” I uttered. I headed towards the kettle, setting the folder down on the counter and turning my attention to the two. “So, how was your time at the mansion today?” I asked Justine as I put the kettle on.

           “Good…” she said, her eyes still glued to her screen as she tapped away on her keyboard. “Worked on some…tests…and some…bosses…”

           “Eh? You worked on some bosses, did you?” I questioned with a chuckle.

           “Yeah…” Justine answered anyway.

           I sighed. “Justine, why don’t you take a break for a bit? You’re confusing reality with fiction…”

           “Can’t… I’m fighting…Nightmare X…”

           As always, there was no getting through to her in this state, so I gave up trying. I leaned against the counter, waiting for the kettle to finish as I pondered what exactly a Nightmare X could be when I noticed out of the corner of my eye Fayne watching me. I didn’t look to him so as not to alert him I’d noticed, but I did wonder what he could be observing. Was there something on my face? Was my tie crooked? Something to do with the murders…? Or perhaps he was willing me to disappear so he could get to know Justine in a more personal sense… Well then, the joke was on him. _I_ would be the one causing _him_ to disappear.

           “Don't you have school today, Fayne?” I asked him. Perhaps I could find a way to usher him out sooner than later.

           He gave me a funny look. “It’s Sunday, Miste’ Dove.”

           “That’s right… A job? Don't you work down at the bookstore?”

           “We’ve jus’ se’ up a policy so we don’ work Sundays.” He beamed. “Wicked, innit? Now I migh’ be able t’ come ove’ an’ visi’ you two more of’en!”

           “Yes…” I hissed the word slowly. “I suppose that _is_ some form of wicked…”

           Suddenly, Justine clenched her fists in a victory pose, punching the air.

           “Yes, finally!” she cried, her thin eyes wide with triumph as sounds of multiple explosions emanated from her laptop. I assumed she’d won the fight with Nightmare X. She turned, spotting me. “Hey, Dad. Did you say something before?”

            _Now_ she notices… I smiled at her slyly.

           “Yes, I was just telling Fayne about that time you left for the mansion without your trousers on.”

           Her excitement vanished as a horrified look now overtook her features. “No… You didn’t, Dad!”

           “No, you’re right, I didn’t,” I said as a chuckle shook my shoulders. “But now he knows.”

           Her cheeks flushed as she whipped her head round so quickly to Fayne her ponytail practically lashed out at the boy, who, by this point, was doubled up in laughter.

           “You left withou’ yer trouse’s?” he asked between chortles.

           “No, that didn’t actually happen!” She glared back at me, holding her arms out in disbelief. “Dad!”

           I shrugged in self-satisfaction. “That’s what you get for not properly welcoming your poor father home.”

           “You don’t understand, Dad! That was one of the toughest bosses in the game!”

           Fayne now turned back to Justine, his laughter fading. “Hey, y’were pri’y engaged in tha’ game. Wha’s it called?”

           My moment of joy vanished as I watched the boy move in close to Justine. I quickly returned to scrutinising him with narrowed eyes, listening to every word, interpreting every facial expression, every mannerism…

           “It’s the Asteroid series, silly!” Justine replied. She turned her laptop towards Fayne…and the sly sod took the opportunity to lean in even closer! “It’s been around since, like, the eighties. You _really_ should play it with me sometime. I think you’ll like all the exploration and atmosphere.”

           As Fayne wrapped his arm around Justine’s neck, playfully pulling her in, I focused my attention on her expression in defeat, knowing I’d see nothing but dreamy bliss in her eyes…or so I thought. There was a split-second twitch of her eyebrow anyone else would have missed. I nearly did myself as her expression quickly returned to its former delectation, but I knew what I had seen. A look of confusion. This surprised me. I had spied on the two from time to time at various cinemas (what if Fayne began snogging her? Someone had to be there to put an end to it!) and watched them getting on so well I was afraid I’d lose my daughter to the world of dating far too soon. But now that I thought on it, I’d never really paid much attention to minute details. I’d only wanted to be sure I could see feet on the floor and both hands at all times. Now that Fayne was in my house right before me, I clearly observed Justine was less taken with him and more confused as to how she should feel towards him. I couldn’t help the triumphant smile that tugged at a corner of my mouth. It wasn’t much but at least it was something.

           But my leer quickly disappeared as Fayne loosened his arm around Justine’s neck and his hand suddenly dangled dangerously near her chest. The kettle now reached its boiling point. So did my temper.

           “…ad…”

           The bubbling water simmered down as the kettle clicked off, but I didn’t release Fayne from my deleterious stare as I filled my mug to the brim.

           “Dad…?”

           I guzzled the steaming cup, the burning liquid just the right temperature to stoke the flames now blazing in my guts. What I wouldn’t do to the lad’s hand if it drew any nearer…

           “Dad!”

           I blinked, snapping out of my trance, and tore my eyes from Fayne to look at Justine expectantly.

           “Are you alright?” she asked, her brow furrowed in exaggerated concern. “You seem ready to murder someone!”

           I cleared my throat. “It's nothing,” I said forcing a chuckle as I refilled my mug again. “The interview didn’t quite go as planned.” At least it wasn't a complete lie…

           “Well, you seriously need to relax,” Justine said as she gave Fayne a teasing warning look, taking his arm and slipping out from underneath it. “You're practically shaking. Although,” she said as she turned back to me, “that might be the _eighty-five_ cups of Earl Grey you’ve managed to gulp down today alone. You’ve drunk way more than normal, and that’s saying something!”

           At this, I downed another cup. Any shaking Justine saw was certainly not due to the Earl Grey as I had built up a tolerance from a very young age. Rather, this irritation was caused by Fayne’s audacity to move in so close to Justine without her permission. It seemed she had the situation under control, being sure to let Fayne know she didn’t desire intimacy by keeping her distance (or at least trying), so I refrained from speaking on it…for now. If I was honest, I wasn’t sure how I’d address the boy’s actions anyway. When I’d been younger I was always taught to be a gentleman, protect women, treat them with respect! But the times had changed so much… I only understood the current generations through what I’d learnt on the news and during community activities, but it was certainly enough to know gentlemanliness was a thing of the past… So was I in the wrong for trying to uphold such an outdated view? Or should I continue to fight for it?

           What was worse, many times Justine reminded me she was able to handle herself and was so determined to fight her own battles I didn’t know how she’d take it if I jumped to her rescue. But also, conflictingly, because she was my only daughter I felt the need to protect her.

           On top of that, I thought, my eyes suddenly searching the tiled floor. She was adopted. Just as I was. I was connected to her not only as her father, but also as a fellow orphan… Someone who knew how it felt to lose those who should never be taken away so early in life. For a split second my mind flashed with recollections of how my own parents had perished. The explosion from the research lab, the fire that had engulfed our flat…the truth of the matter and how it had all been due to one selfish man… I imagined Justine hadn’t experienced anything of this calibre, but that certainly didn’t matter when it came to family. She didn't talk much about her past and I wouldn’t push her to do so, but from my own experiences I knew the pain of loss was still as fresh on her mind as the day she’d witnessed the tragedy, whatever that tragedy may have been. Because of this, I’d really rather she not lose someone else, like a potential date who might use her and then leave…

           At this, my brow knit in defiance and I downed yet another scorching cup of Earl Grey. If that meant literally kicking boys out of my house, I silently promised, then so be it!

           I was about to begin plotting a different way to be rid of Fayne, but then a brilliant idea came to me. Instead of whinging about something I didn’t feel the need to address at the moment, why not take advantage of this situation to ask Fayne about that scroll, see if he knew anything? Perhaps I would glean a bit more knowledge in order to determine whether or not I should suspect Mrs Tysan in the murders. At the same time, I could keep an eye on him…

           “Fayne,” I said while slipping a small notepad from my back trouser pocket, seating myself across from him and Justine. He instantly sat up straight as if he thought I’d not noticed his flirting with my daughter this entire time. “Do you mind if I conduct an informal interview with you?”

           He blinked then his eyes widened in excitement as he grinned practically from ear to ear.

           “No’ a problem, Miste’ Dove!”

           Already this seemed a strange emotion to express but I would hold off speculating until after speaking with him. In any case, I still quickly noted Fayne’s reaction to my request for later reference if need be. Wouldn’t want to discard a potential piece of the puzzle. “Out of curiosity,” I began, “how do you feel about archaeology?”

           He looked up off to the side, bringing a hand to his chin as he thought on it.

           “T’ be ‘onest, Miste’ Dove, I’m no’ as taken wi’ it as me fam-ely.” I jotted this response down. As I did, I noticed out of my peripheral his countenance shift, becoming even and unreadable. Moments later, it shifted again and he was suddenly very observant, his eyes searching my face as if he was trying to read my expression as well. This was suspicious… Did he suspect I was planning to ask about the scroll? I looked back up to him and his probing eyes widened just a millisecond in surprise before he broke out in another grin. I wrote this down while smiling kindly, hiding my mistrust.

           “So, I’m guessing you’re not planning on becoming an archaeologist then?”

           “No, Miste’ Dove. I’m more int’ programin’”

           “Even so, I’m sure you have a favourite artefact your mother and father have discovered?”

           A sudden frown replaced his grin, an eyebrow raised.

           “Me mam? She’s no archaeologist. Tha’s jus’ me dad yer thinkin’.”

           Now it was my turn to express confusion. I could see the boy wasn’t lying. He was genuinely puzzled, so much so he had stopped observing my features as he focused on my question. If this was true, and it seemed very likely it was, at least it made more sense why Mrs Tysan’s story didn’t line up when she was explaining her job as an archaeologist. But what reason did she have for lying to me?

           Well, I thought, whatever she had planned, Fayne wasn’t aware of it. He had an alibi. I noted what I’d learnt then dismissed this line of questioning for now to gather more relevant information.

           “Yes, your father, I mean. What’s one of your favourite artefacts of his?”

           After a moment Fayne confessed, “There’s so many, Miste’ Dove…” I noticed his eyes shift quickly to the left, suggesting he was fibbing. “Bu’ I can’t really pu’ a finger on which one.”

           I decided to cut to the chase. “Your mother and I discussed a scroll today. Very curious artefact. Do you know anything about it?”

           Fayne’s face lit up then darkened again. He had been about to say something but decided against it. As I watched closer, I saw sadness briefly cross his features. Had I hit a nerve…?

           “Well…Dad’s jus’ no’ been ‘ome much, so…” he shifted in his chair, taking great care to control his facial expression, “I don’ know a lo’ abou’ it…”

           I could see Fayne was uncomfortable so I allowed him his silence while writing down and considering his words. His father had not been home much… I suppose he was out researching and uncovering more artefacts, but why would this upset Fayne? I reflected on the boy’s mother. The absence of Mr Tysan might explain why she had impersonated an archaeologist. And now that I was thinking on her again, I recalled she had become a bit distressed when she or I mentioned her husband…

           This information, though very curious, unfortunately didn’t help me understand why that scroll and those scraps of paper were emblazoned with the same insignia or why Mrs Tysan might be involved. I glanced over to the folder Mrs Tysan had handed me. Perhaps it was time to search the source.

           “Do yea need to know fer yer paper, Miste’ Dove?”

           I looked from the folder to Fayne. Another smile shown on his lips, but it very clearly contrasted with the concern furrowing his brow.

           “That’s fine, Fayne,” I said, noticing concern was replaced with reprieve at this simple comment. I hefted the heavy folder from off the counter and placed it before me. “Your mother provided me quite enough to extrapolate from.”

           With this I opened the folder cover, tuning out Justine and Fayne who were quickly back to prattling on about video games and computers. I began leafing through the novel-sized stack of documents, skimming every paper for words relating to the scroll, excitement encasing me like that of a young detective reading through his first murder/mystery encasing me. Fifteen minutes later, however, I’d found nothing and my vigour began to dwindle as I continued, discouraged. I’d only scratched the very surface of the stack and knew this would take a day or so—time I certainly didn’t have, in other words—to inspect every single page.

           But upon discarding the next page into a mentally noted, rather tall and leaning ‘not relevant’ stack, that’s when I came upon it. A paper featuring the scroll. Just as when I’d seen it at the Tysan house the image alone gripped my attention. The whole kitchen could have disappeared and I’d not notice as my vivacity was renewed, my eyes darting through the information, eager to eat up every word.

 

 _‘_ _Scroll of the Guardians_

_Not much is known of the letters and numbers printed on this Scroll but the circles within are theorised to represent a set of powers. These were dubbed Universal Powers as their symbols seem to represent elements needed in order for humanity to not only survive, but thrive as a race._ _’_

           

           And that was it. I scanned the page for more, but there was nothing but an image below of the scroll unfurled, revealing its jumbled letters and numbers as well as the cycle of circled symbols. I was disappointed, wanting so fervently to crack this case, but this paper provided me with more questions than answers… Why was it named Scroll of the Guardians? Who were these Guardians? Was the one seeking these powers the murderer who had left the hourglass symbol on his victims’ bodies?

            I sighed, running a hand through my hair then glanced to my watch. Half-eleven. All my leads on the connection between this scroll and those pieces of paper had led to dead ends. No, not dead ends, I decided. More the opposite. More long, winding roads that branched off down more winding roads. In any case, I didn’t have time for this multifaceted mystery at present. I should be focusing on the articles I had due tomorrow. Mary, inspired by her sister Hilda, an Interpol agent, was as much a mystery enthusiast as I was, which was one of the reasons she’d become a newspaper editor. But she’d not be happy if I sacrificed my articles to ponder a mystery I couldn’t solve at the moment. Defeated, I popped into my bedroom and collected a few of the rough drafts I’d been working on last night then returned to the kitchen table to begin writing articles I knew would not be nearly as enjoyable as gathering information on that Scroll.

           “You know what I’ve never understood, Dad?” Justine said upon my return. “Why are you a _newspaper_ reporter?”

           I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

           “Well, the news is pretty much all on-line. Isn't your job a bit…ancient history?”

           At first I thought she was being cheeky but she'd tilted her head and I knew she was asking a genuine question. “Are you suggesting my job is outdated?”

           “Well, kind of… Maybe you should try switching to telling the news on the internet? Like a blog or something?”

           At this, she returned to talking with Fayne about coding. HTML, CSS, binary… It was all a puzzle to me. Perhaps I should make the switch from newspaper to a more modern resource, I thought. This idea hadn’t occurred to me just now. In fact when Justine had first become enamoured with technology around five years ago when I’d bought my first (and only) computer, I’d considered exchanging physical paper for virtual blog. I didn't exactly need the money, but it would provide a more challenging atmosphere. And, I'll be honest, maybe I could look a bit more ‘cool’ with the younger generation…at least with my daughter. If nothing else, it would help me understand all this new technology I’d not been properly introduced to. And maybe then I’d learn to accept that Virtual Autopsy table I still had my doubts about…

           As the day carried on, I attempted to work at my articles while also attempting to watch Justine and Fayne while _also_ attempting to train my attention on my job and not the very tantalising mystery of that Guardians Scroll…all at once. The task of keeping Fayne in line was rather easy as merely sitting across from the two seemed enough to remind the boy he wasn’t alone with my daughter. Fayne finally departed when his mother rang for him to eat lunch (whether she was the murderer or not, I silently thanked her a hundred times over), and I was soon left with only the task of keeping my focus off the Scroll…

           However, this task proved to be the real challenge. At one point while writing up some rough drafts, I’d been so engrossed in my thoughts on the mystery, I’d written an entire article about scrolls, scraps and murder rather than what it was meant to be on, the grass growing green once more as spring settled on London.

           Half an hour of erasing, rewriting, crumpling up paper and rewriting again, I’d still made little progress and, frustrated, decided to break for lunch myself. Perhaps my empty stomach was what was truly keeping me from focusing, I thought, (though I was rather doubtful…) I ate with Justine, most of the meal consisting of Earl Grey, and once satisfied I turned back to my articles. But the moment I began writing I soon realised even with a full belly my concentration hadn’t improved. In fact, now that I was comfortable and in a relaxed state of mind, I wanted to scour the folder for more information on the Scroll than ever before. I sighed, resting an elbow on the table while scratching my head.

           “Are you okay, Dad?” I heard Justine ask, laughter in her voice.

           “I’m not so sure…” I replied, leaning back in my seat while staring down the blank page before me. The vacant, light-blue lines seemed to be mocking me.

           “I’m telling you, switch to a blog. Typing is much faster anyway.”

           “The problem isn’t the manner in which I’m writing my articles. It’s more what the articles are about… Namely, not the mystery I uncovered today.”

           “Mystery?” she asked enthusiastically while looking up from her laptop to me. “About what?”

           “Today’s interviews. The murders—both this morning’s and the one I’d investigated last week—seem connected to…” I hesitated, not willing to disclose my suspicion of Fayne’s family, “well, an artefact of sorts.”

           Justine fell quiet, quickly returning her attention to her laptop screen. I knew it was because I had mentioned the murders. Good job I’d left out the bit about Fayne…

           “So, like an unsolved mystery or something?” she put in. I could tell she would rather not discuss this any further but made an effort so as not to leave the conversation unfinished. Even so, behind that mask of indifference, I saw the gears turning in her mind. Though she was repulsed by crime, her desire to discover the uncovered drew her insatiable curiosity, just as it did mine. I couldn’t help smiling in fatherly pride.

           “Yes, and it’s acting as a snare to my attention. Perhaps, you’re right,” I added, attempting to lighten the mood. “I’ll have to type up my articles rather than pen them…”

           Justine chuckled, beaming at me. “So you admit technology wins!”

           “…The battle…” I corrected, flashing a teasing smug smile.

           “Someday you’ll have to admit technology wins the war…”

           “Yeah, yeah…” I murmured, waving a dismissive hand.

           With this, I left for my office. Perhaps the atmosphere of where I usually worked would help me focus, I thought in a last-ditch effort to be productive. After all this faffing about, I really would need to start typing the final drafts. Lest I be dreaming of more paper walls crushing me to bits…

           While my computer took a minute booting up, I used this time to think back on earlier this morning, summarising all I had learnt on this mystery. At this point I was out of excuses for procrastinating, but maybe organising my thoughts would actually relieve some of my need to ponder. I couldn’t be sure Mrs Tysan wasn’t in on the murders as I still didn’t have enough evidence to say. Assuming it wasn’t her, though, I felt one thing was certain. This single connection of the two insignias found on objects so different from one another—the dead bodies and then the scroll about these Guardians—must have been planned out by someone for someone else to find. Whether or not I was that someone else was debatable, but, again, I considered it a possibility. We were dealing with murder after all, and since I’d managed to keep my life this long, I’d appreciate knowing whether or not I was a target…

           Suddenly something popped up before me, reflecting in my glasses. I looked up to my computer screen expecting to see my desktop. Instead, the entire background was black and lines upon lines of numbers were printed upon it. I stared at the numbers in surprise analysing them until I realised they formed an image of sorts. Looked to be an insect… What was this? A virus?

           While considering calling Justine in for help, I noticed some of the numbers repeated. It was a puzzle. I tried it out, jotting the repeating numbers down on a fresh page of my back pocket notepad, but after a few casual solutions I couldn't seem to get it. I felt a bit dejected. My puzzle skills were once quite sharp. Sharp enough to come up with at least some answer for these numbers. But they must have grown rusty after all this time. A thought of Professor Layton, the famous archaeologist I had recently chatted with Mrs Tysan about, came to me. Not only was he a renowned archaeologist, but he was also quite the puzzle-solver. He’d probably have this one done by now and be onto a second one… Perhaps it would do me good to meet with him again, catch up over a cup of Earl Grey. It had been quite a while after all. Years… And the last time I’d spoken to him had been during a darker time. The Professor had been acting strangely too, a fear, a very strong trepidation in his eyes and voice alike. I could still remember his words to this day…

           For now, however, I thought as I looked back at the puzzle in an effort to clear my mind of these morose ponderings, I'd mull over it on my own…

           I glanced to the stacks of rough drafts due tomorrow noting how many of them were still nothing but blank pages.

           …That was, when I had the time…

 

 

Far from the Dove home, many metres underground, a man stood, one foot holding his weight, the other pinning his victim beneath the heel of his Oxfords. His countenance was like chiselled stone—firm and cold—as he gripped his hostage’s collar tight. His left eye was hidden behind a black patch, his right hard and dark as obsidian, watching on with indifference as he repeatedly stomped down onto his victim’s thoroughly beaten body.

           Deciding the abducted man had suffered enough, at least for now, he placed all his weight on the heel digging into his ribs then stepped back away from the cage, closing and locking the door once more. He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back, his perfectly ironed suit crinkling, the multitude of medals hosted upon his chest shimmering in the sole light above. He slightly tilted his chin so as to stare down upon any who dared defy him. Such was the man’s crime.

           “We’ve been awarded with good news,” the man, Thanat, informed his hostage, his voice laced with relish. “Good news for me, that is.”

           The hostage stared up at Thanat, his eyes ringed with dark circles due partially from many sleepless nights, partially from the torture he endured each day. His limbs were wrapped by ropes, his bound body pressed so tightly within the small cage his lean-fitted clothing bulged out between the steel bars. His mouth was not taped shut but even so there wasn’t much risk of him speaking. A collar fastened around his neck slightly hidden by the lapel of his soiled trench coat would send a rather strong electric shock ripping through his system if he made so much as a peep.

           “You wouldn’t have to endure this if you’d only listened,” Thanat continued icily. He watched a tear mingled with blood seep from the man’s eye as he pondered to himself. He had just captured the man only a week ago, but he had spoken with him long before, years ago in fact. Had offered him money, fame, power for his help. But he had not only refused but also gone against Thanat’s desires. Now he was done offering and was taking away. “Because of your insolence, we’ve recruited someone else. But don’t think you’re now free to go.” The commander paced languidly about the room, his steps _clack, clack, clack_ ing upon the cement floor. He watched with satisfaction out of the corner of his eye as his hostage flinched with each footfall. “You're still involved, but you’ve been…demoted. This other man taking your place is someone very special to me. And someone I believe you know.” He turned round to his hostage. His face was now cast in shadow as he leaned into the cage, but his one good eye shone with malice, staring into the man as if observing his frantically beating heart. He pulled a photograph from his pocket, the one given him by Bill Hawks many years ago just before he was sent to prison, and flipped it to show his hostage who exactly he meant. The man’s eyes widened in realisation and fear. Just as planned. “I’ve sent him the experiment’s puzzle, the one _you_ were meant to decipher. When he solves it, we earn something—more knowledge of where the second power is hidden. _You,_ however, will lose something. Or some _one_ , I should say.”

           The man swallowed.

           “Who…?” he choked out before the shock collar reprimanded him with a bolt of electricity.

           Thanat fixed him in his merciless gaze.

           “Possibly your adoptive mother. Possibly your adoptive father. The _real_ you? Maybe even your old apprentice? Who can say…?”

           The man clenched his jaw.

           “Not them…” he whimpered through his teeth. Once more electricity bit into his throat, his limbs and insides succumbing to the shock. “ _Please!_ ”

           Thanat watched the man’s body arch involuntarily then collapse heavily to the floor, his sides heaving with each laboured breath, his soft sobs wracking his broken form.

           “And now for your demotion,” Thanat carried on, dismissing the man’s soft pleas. “Bill Hawks. You knew him as a former scientist and London’s prime minister. What you could never have guessed was his involvement in our organisation. We relied on the piece of the Guardian he holds, used to extract more powers. In addition, he was paying back and rather large debt to us. Now he’s in prison, locked behind both bars and the Guardian’s seal, and it’s partially due to _your_ involvement.” His frown deepened, carving into his flesh. “You want my pardon? Break him out.”

           For a moment the hostage could do nothing but stare at Thanat as he considered this request. He had already endured so much loss… And if he didn’t comply, he would only endure more… But he couldn’t… He wouldn’t! It had taken him years, practically losing his life to uncover Bill Hawks’ secrets! The man was in prison for a reason! No… He’d have to refuse…

           Weakly, the hostage shook his head.

           With this, Thanat nodded curtly, expecting the answer. He turned and shot over his shoulder, “You’ve made your decision. I do hope you don’t plead anymore, then. It’s quite unbecoming of someone who’s challenged an organisation more powerful than any nation’s government.” And he began to leave.

           Between the clacking of his footfalls, Thanat waited patiently, listening carefully. _Clack… Clack… Clack…_

           “ _AHHHHHH!_ ”

           There it was. The sound of desperation. The scream of a learned man realising he might as well be nothing more than the most foolish of prey.

           Yet, despite the flashfire of victory that swept through him, the fiery sensation of absolute power over another man who would lead him to fulfil his goal, he did not smile. His frown only deepened further and he thought of his family. All he wanted was to hold them in his arms once more…


End file.
